Chapter 58: The Enchantress’s Epiphany

In their circle, most social gatherings were often hosted in some building or hotel, and at those times, a parade of luxury cars would line up outside, with all sorts of wealthy men and women making their grand entrances accompanied by handsome men and beautiful women. But tonight, at sea, the scene was even more extravagant: the Seagod, a luxury cruise liner with a displacement of 170,000 tons, stood anchored like a floating palace, surrounded by all manner of yachts, large and small, clustered around her. It was much like the scene of luxury cars gathering outside a grand hotel, only on a higher, more opulent scale.

Even the smaller yachts anchored on the periphery were loaded with attractive men and women. The number of guests allowed aboard the Seagod was limited; not everyone could pass the threshold. The rest were just there for fun and to soak in the atmosphere, holding their own little parties on their yachts. When the main festivities on the Seagod ended, and the principal guests departed, the others would return to their yachts to begin the next round of revelry.

Haizhou was, of course, the economic, financial, and entertainment center of the East, but only in moments like this could one truly sense the intoxicating, decadent air of luxury.

Among the yachts, Jiang Yaowen’s vessel was the most impressive. He lounged with his companions on the rear deck’s plush sofas, cruising towards the Seagod at a measured pace of twenty-five knots.

Jiang Yaowen, dressed in an immaculate white casual suit, had brought no women with him this time. A glass of champagne in hand, sunglasses perched on his nose, one leg crossed over the other, he cut an elegant figure. He smiled as he glanced at Ma Weimin sitting opposite him, and sometimes at Feng Chenchen, who nestled beside Ma.

Jiang Yaowen was a man of principle. Unless Ma made the first move, he would not say a word to him, acting as though he did not exist. He occasionally exchanged a few words with Feng Chenchen, even giving her a discreet thumbs-up to show his approval.

This made Feng beam with pride, feeling as though her luck was at its zenith. She truly felt like the female version of Lord Wei, blessed by fortune and favored in every direction.

Buoyed by her good fortune, Feng Chenchen became lively, donning large sunglasses and a felt hat, savoring the cool breeze and fine wine.

Jiang Yaowen sipped his champagne sparingly, not wanting to dull his senses too soon, but Feng Chenchen felt no such restraint, especially with the genuine Lafite that Jiang had provided.

As they drew nearer to the Seagod, their speed slowed, for the surrounding waters were packed with yachts, their decks crowded with women flaunting their figures in skimpy bikinis.

Seeing all this, Feng Chenchen felt lucky; her transformation wasn’t complete yet, but it was close.

She was intimately familiar with the myriad beautiful women who came to these events, hailing from all corners of the globe, each with dreams of standing out. Some called them “peripheral girls,” but in Feng’s eyes, who among us isn’t living on the periphery?

Some people, after making a name for themselves, acquire new halos that gradually obscure their pasts. Most, however, fade into obscurity once their golden years pass, taking with them whatever money they’d made, and settle down with a steady, bespectacled man. That was fate.

These occasions were not bathhouses or red-light salons. The laws of the universe dictate that all things have their lifespan, “delicate goods” included; once they lose their luster, they’re naturally eliminated from this world.

Given the limited opportunities, how quickly one could rise depended on luck—and on one’s own skills.

There was a time, not so long ago, when Feng Chenchen, full of dreams and relatively innocent, was a newcomer following others to a mid-tier event at Haizhou’s famous karaoke club, “Bright Voice Lounge.” Back then, a minor boss in the industry ordered Feng to dance on the table—not laying a hand on her, but insisting she remove her underwear and twirl it on her finger as she moved.

That minor boss was Wan Ziguan, one of the original veterans who’d followed Ni Feihong in taking over “The Brightest.” At her most embarrassed, Feng heard a commanding voice, half-joking, half-serious, rebuke the crowd: “A bunch of grown men, amusing themselves by picking on a rookie? Even if you’re drunk, aren’t there other outlets for your urges?”

It was a bit of a show, but it left a deep impression on her. Feng never forgot that the speaker was Ye Gongmin, who, to some extent, was a decent man. That was why, though she never played the girlfriend, Feng became Ye Gongmin’s girlfriend.

Now, so much had changed. Wan Ziguan had played himself out; whatever standing he once had was erased when Ni Feihong blacklisted him. In their circle, that meant he was finished—no one would dare use him again. Ni Feihong was that formidable.

Time had passed. Coming to such events again, Feng Chenchen now saw herself as a senior, observing the new girls around her with the knowing gaze of an elder. They were so full of energy, so naïve.

Time had passed. With each day, Feng felt herself growing older. That was why she needed to reinvent herself as soon as possible. Some careers become more valuable with age; others, the opposite. Directors and models were the perfect contrast.

Time had passed. The once-distant peak, Jiang Yaowen, now treated her with respect and admiration. She truly had turned her luck around, and she was proud of it.

Her pride swelled, but she kept herself in check. She was doing her utmost to charm Brother Ma, striking just the right balance—oily yet not greasy, her timing impeccable.

To master anything, one must shed resistance and resentment. Feng was doing so well because she realized she was genuinely beginning to like this eccentric man.

These were Feng Chenchen’s fanciful musings before boarding the Seagod, in a mood of unrestrained delight.

During this time, the three said little. Feng was simply enjoying herself; Jiang Yaowen, a man of rules, would not speak unless addressed. As for Ma, he played it cool. Before the demon king’s return, his strategy was: the less one says to complex people, the less one interacts, the better. Mystery creates allure, and distance lends beauty.

In the afternoon, they finally boarded the Seagod.

It was a palatial, public gathering place—a floating palace—with professional security maintaining order, and courteous waiters with bow ties weaving through the crowds. The ship was packed with people, spanning multiple layers from top to bottom. Except for a few areas marked “No Entry,” everything was open: restaurants, cinemas, tennis courts, bowling alleys, spas, gambling rooms—everything one could wish for.

There were staff permanently stationed on the ship, some who had joined from the Atlantic’s starting port, and others who were temporary guests from Haizhou. People from all over the world mingled; even strangers could easily find common language and shared business if they wished.

Jiang Yaowen, his thoughts too focused on Ma, failed to notice and collided with a young woman.

“I’m so sorry, sir, truly sorry,” apologized the young American woman, a summer temp on the Seagod. She had spilled an entire tray of champagne on Jiang Yaowen’s pristine white suit.

Jiang was not pleased, but he didn’t get angry. He simply asked, “Where can I change my clothes?”

The waitress apologized again, “Sir, I truly am sorry…”

Jiang interrupted, frowning, “I’m not asking for an apology. I just need to change. I’m meeting someone important soon.”

“Oh,” the girl breathed a sigh of relief and gave him directions.

Jiang leaned toward Feng Chenchen, “Stay with him. I’m going to change,” he said, then walked off without another glance at the waitress.

“Sir, your friend has such grace,” the waitress praised Ma repeatedly.

Jiang had shown off; Ma was happy to accept the praise, smiling and nodding as he watched the waitress depart.